Posted on | December 4, 2013 | 4 Comments
Okay, so I’m not a “real” librarian yet. Actually, I’m a circulation clerk, but hey girls hey, I’ve got a job at the local library! Today was day two. I decided to keep kinda mum about it until I had a chance to go in, feel it out, and see if it was really going to stick (so to speak). But it has been a great fit so far, and I am truly loving the opportunity to get out of the house and get some real, live work experience. The boys are being watched by the mother of a dear friend of mine, and she has been an absolute God-send. The boys love “Ms. Jean,” and the feeling seems to be mutual.
By the time I pay childcare and taxes, I’m actually paying a few bucks a day to work right now. It seems counterproductive, but I really do think it’s important that I get my foot in the door with the library so that 1) I know that it’s really what I want to do, and so that 2) I have the experience in a library before I even start my Master’s this June.
So. AH. This is me freaking out because of all the crazy changes in my life right now!
I’m working pretty hard to find some kind of routine. I try to get all the laundry and dishes done on my days off, and I try to have the house clean and in order when Ms. Jean arrives on the mornings I work. I like to get up a few hours early, get myself ready, get the boys ready, and feed them breakfast. It gives me some time with them, and it keeps me from feeling frazzled. By the time I get home, they are napping. I plan on sitting down to blog (we’ll see how that goes), then changing and heading to the gym with them when they get up. It’s harder for me to make the CrossFit gym because the evening classes don’t have child care. I’m fine with letting them play in the play area if there is no running in the work out, but if I’m going to have to leave the building, I don’t want anyone else to feel responsible for watching them. So, on my work days, I’ve been following my CrossFit program on my own at Gold’s. It isn’t ideal, but it’ll have to work until I can figure something better out. Tuesdays and Thursdays, the boys are still going to Mother’s Morning Out, but honestly? This may be the last week. We LOVE their teachers, but the cost of Mother’s Morning Out PLUS child care is just a bit much for us. Not to mention, it completely ties up my mornings that they have it because it doesn’t correlate well with gym time. I’m going to try again tomorrow and see if we can make it work, but depending on my library schedule, it may have to go. We’re hoping to get them into a part-time preschool program sometime early next year. All of these things are pending! So, I have no idea how everything is going to work, but I’m thinking having them in a preschool will be very helpful when I’m working AND taking classes.
Phew. So now that I have metaphorically verbally vomited all over you, here is my outfit from day two! Work is fairly casual. Lots of dress slacks, flats, cardigans, or boots and dresses. I’m grateful I don’t have to look for a “professional” wardrobe.
Now, let’s see if I can handle this whole “working mom” thing!
Posted on | November 26, 2013 | 5 Comments
I love Thanksgiving. In fact, four years ago tonight, I sat at the Thanksgiving dinner table and proclaimed to everyone that Sullivan would be born on the next day (November 27, 2009). Even though I was two weeks prior to my due date, I just knew my little guy would make his appearance on our around Thanksgiving. I predicted his birth at conception, and I was right. Since his special entrance, surrounded by family, Thanksgiving has had a very special place in my heart.
As the holiday draws near, I am grateful for so many things this year. I’m grateful for the health and happiness of my family. I’m grateful for my two little boys sleeping soundly in their beds. I feel eternally blessed that I married my best friend and have had yet another year of happy marriage with him, and I’m more grateful than I can say that he is here to celebrate with us this year. I thank God every day for a warm home, warm meals, warm clothes, and the warm hearts that fill my life. For my forever friends. For another year closer to being debt free. For a car that runs, and a job offer, and the promise of a new start with my Master’s degree. I’m so grateful for so many of these things, but you know that, because you each have very special blessings in your life from which you find your peace and happiness.
But what about those silly little things that we are grateful to have but are swept under the rug when it comes time to say our prayers at the dinner table? So here are the things I’m thankful to have right this minute and throughout the year:
1) Concealer, mascara, and blush. Because, honestly? I would be a monster without my power trio.
2) Lavender oil. A little on the temples goes a mile on calming my nerves.
3) Dog paws that smell like corn chips. How silly is it that God made our dogs feet smell like Fritos? It must have been a joke.
4) My iPhone. I know it’s materialistic and trivial, but that little piece of junk makes my day so much easier.
5) The smell of pumpkin and Christmas that is currently filling my kitchen.
6) Dave Matthews Band still exists and still releases music every year, and that is a major blessing to my ears.
7) That my husband is supportive of tattoos. And that I have a new one picked out right now.
8 ) For my CrossFit gym and the people in it who help break me down and build me up every day.
9) Great pairs of yoga pants.
10) The train table our friends gave us for FREE that the boys adore.
11) The smell of my husband’s work clothes after they are washed. They smell like detergent and man.
12) “The Voice.”
13) Deodorant. Obviously.
14) “Catching Fire” the movie. It was so stinking good, and I cried the whole time.
15) Warm scarves and men’s flannel shirts.
16) Pumpkin spice tea. Or really. Pumpkin anything.
17) Pinot Grigio and K-Cups (because they save my sanity).
18) Fresh flowers from guests.
19) The fact that I’m finally done blowing up the tons of balloons I’m putting in Sully’s room tonight.
20) A working dishwasher.
What are the little things bringing you joy tonight?
Posted on | November 25, 2013 | 4 Comments
As I pushed the stroller back through the airport, crying as my little bundle rested and his daddy boarded a plane to Iraq, I had never felt quite so alone. My beloved aunt was dying. My brand new child was here, and I had no idea how to take care of him. I was surrounded by grief and heartache over death and joy from this new life, and I had no idea how I was going to function with my husband thousands of miles away for an entire year.
I cried and struggled through those first couple of weeks. I sanctimoniously called myself a “temporary single mom,” and rolled my eyes at the military wives who insisted that we were not, in fact, “single moms,” because we still had husbands. I resented the way they glossed over the fact that I had to do everything for my son. I despised that they suggested that my duty as a military wife included doing all the taxes, renting homes, organizing moves, raising a child, changing every diaper, making every meal, rotating tires, and making it to the computer for Skype dates, and I wasn’t supposed to get any extra credit for all my hard work.
To be honest? I viewed that first deployment rather selfishly. I didn’t always think about the fact that my husband was missing our son’s first steps. I glossed over the good parts he wouldn’t be there to see. The new words. The favorite stories. The park trips and first memories. He lived vicariously through us, and instead of being appreciative that I still had this time with our child when he did not, I felt like I was the one suffering the most.
It’s taken me five years of marriage, countless TDYs, two deployments, and another deployment looming for me to recognize that I am not a single parent when he is away. To claim that I am is doing a major disservice to the men and women who truly are single parenting. To those surviving on a single income that they are solely responsible for bringing into the home. For those who never have the emotional support of a spouse or partner. To those who aren’t waiting for their loved one to come home. And even more so than that? In calling myself a temporary single mom while Taylor is away, I am undermining the women and men who’s spouse never makes it home from deployment.
Do not misunderstand; I am not suggesting that military spouses have it easy. I’ve been there at 2:00AM with one feverish child and one sleeping child, and I’ve struggled over making the decision to wake the sleeping baby to rush the other to the emergency room. I’ve relocated hours away from family and friends, created a home, and spent many lonely nights without my husband. I’ve done all the taxes, run all the errands, spent a great deal of time raising babies without my husband physically present. I know being a military spouse is a tough job. But we don’t go it alone. We have the emotional support of our spouses, even from far away. We have the surprise flowers, the planned R&R vacations, and the honeymoon time after deployments. We have the joy in our children’s eyes when their daddy comes home from a long trip. We have the warmth of an embrace that we have missed so much after weeks, months, or a year apart.
While I would never judge a military spouse who says she’s a single mother while her husband is deployed (I’ve been there!), I’ve certainly learned over the years that there is a very dynamic difference between us and the single parent population. Instead of rolling my eyes at her like I might have done in the past, I’ll hug her and ask if there is something I can do to make this time in her life easier. I know how it goes, and I had many, many people do the same for me. It’s been a good lesson to learn, and I will certainly remember it as we approach another extended time apart from each other.
Posted on | November 21, 2013 | 2 Comments
My thighs have always touched at the top. Pictures of me on the swim team in elementary school show my tiny, muscular legs grazing together. In high school, I stared at my own thighs in a mirror while a very thin friend of mine put a quarter sideways between her thighs to ensure they still had a enough gap between them to meet her ideals of beauty. In college, as I prepared for my wedding, I ran every day, lifted weights, and consisted on salads, diet coke, and apples. And my thighs STILL touched. Because, at the end of the day, thigh touching has very little to do with your actual weight and almost everything to do with your bone structure. Wide hips in relation to your body? Probably going to have a thigh gap with a little work. Narrower hips? Yeah, probably not unless you starve yourself.
WHY have we decided that this hard (or impossible) to achieve space between our legs is a sign of beauty? Why have we raised a generation of daughters who desperately pinch tiny pockets of fat or skin and moan over not fitting into their size two Abercrombie jeans? The only good I see coming out of this deluded way of thinking is that it seems as though the pendalum is beginning to swing. The “Strong is Sexy” movement has had outstanding success, and I like to think that many people are working hard to raise their children to look up to brilliant, strong women rather than actresses and models. I like to think that our teenagers are searching “Fitspiration” rather than “Thinsporation,” and I hope that we will see the next generation of children being more self-confident and comfortable in their bodies than most of us could have ever dreamed.
I think this change in attitude was a reason that the internet collectively lost its mind when Chip Wilson, founder and CEO of lululemon atheletic, made the hairbrained comment that lululemon’s clothes may not work for all women. He suggested that the friction of rubbing things would cause the expensive yoga pants to pill more quickly in this lovely interview. Do I think he was an idiot for saying these words out loud as a businessman? Absolutely. Do I think that, perhaps, the higher ups at lululemon need a serious jolt of reality on how to successfully promote healthiness, a peace of mind, and their yoga-centric mantra? You bet your ass. Do they need to promote women in general rather than some skinny ideal of what they think is “worthy” of their clothing? That’s a gag-worthy question with a resounding “YES!”
But the bottom line is as a thick-thighed girl, I recognize that my pants may pill before my thin-thighed friends, and I’m okay with that. Because, for once in my life, I’m proud of my strong, muscular legs. I don’t mind that they don’t fit in tiny jeans, and I embrace that my waist is often quite a bit smaller than my pant size reflects because I have to buy up to fit my thighs and butt.
For once in my life, my goal is to squat twice my body weight instead of dropping another 10% off the scale.
For once in my life, I admire the ripples of muscles when I walk rather than seek out the dimples of cellulite that have followed me around since I was a pre-teen.
I now pride myself in being able to pick up 75lbs of babies and carry them both inside during a thunderstorm. I can then turn around a work through five sets of 12 deadlifts, 9 hang cleans, and 6 push jerks at 75lbs in just 12:56. My ample thighs provide the strength to lift my babies and the strength to lift my weights. They pad my bones as I clean weight off the floor. They ground me as I jump off a 24″ box.
Yes, my pants pill sooner. When you’re lifting heavy weight, you tend to gain muscle. When you gain muscle, you thighs and butt tend to expand in the best of ways. And when your thighs and butt expand, you tend to have more friction between your legs (mind outta the gutter, folks!), causing your pants to pill faster. I expect my pants to work as hard as me, but I don’t expect miracles from them.
The best female athletes in CrossFit have substantial, beautiful legs.
We need to ignore the words of an out-of-touch CEO and continue to promote healthiness and strength as ideals of beauty. We need to continue to embrace our body types, be them of the elusive thigh gap kind or the more common thigh touching build. Instead of fighting nature, we need to work with what our mama’s gave us and know our strengths. We need to overlook our “flaws” and find that power within.
Do I think ‘ol Chippy boy needs to keep his mouth shut? Of course. But I won’t let his stupid words stop me from buying whatever the hell pants I want. Lululemon pants work well for my big ass and thighs. They stay put during burpees. They don’t give me plumber’s crack during hand stands. They make me feel cute, do wonders for my rear view, and I’m happy to put them on each morning. And surprisingly, they haven’t shown my pikachu during squats. So, if I want to spend a little more on a pair of pants that work well for me, I will. But I’ll also be reasonable when my thighs cause some pilling.
Because for the first time in my life, I’m not trying to shrink my thighs. I’m trying to grow my quadriceps and hamstrings to be able to lift half as much as the women I admire.
Posted on | November 13, 2013 | 5 Comments
I applied for two jobs. Kind of last-minute, on the fly. I got a call today from one saying they went with someone with more experience. That’s the problem with having children right out of college and not getting work experience. People want you have to have experience, but they won’t hire you to give it to you. And if you happen to get hired, they won’t pay you enough to support daycare because you aren’t experienced. It’s a bad cycle. The second job (the one at the library) has asked me to come in for a drug test. So that’s a plus, right? They wouldn’t ask you to come in to pee in a cup if they weren’t interested…surely?
In other news, I took the Miller’s Analogy Test last week, and I’ve almost finished my grad school application. I’ll be starting this June, if all things go well! I’ll be getting my masters in Library Science and Information. I’m really looking forward to it. I’ve considered being in the classroom. I’ve considered by-passing school and doing something else. I’ve considered just staying at home. And I honestly think a degree that can get me in the library, can help me teach others how to research, and that can surround me with my love of literature is the best way to go. I am dying to hear whether I’m accepted or not, and if you’ve got a little prayer available, would you send it my way?
The boys are great! We went to check out a local daycare/preschool. They begged me to stay. I almost cried meeting the Director. I’m not sure I’m really ready for full-time work. The idea of leaving them in someone else’s hands after four years is a very difficult pill to swallow. I’ll miss my days with them. I’ll miss my freedom. I’ll miss being able to keep my house spotless and seeing every, single milestone. But I do think it will be good for them down the road. I’ve got them on a list to start should I get a job or down the road when I’m getting my Master’s. They will probably start a couple days a week in order to give me the time to work on classes.
Tay is wonderful, as usual. I don’t know what I would do without this man. We’re gearing up for another deployment. Deployments blow. But they are a part of life, and they happen. I’m hunkering down, and I’m getting ready for the emotional and physical stresses of having a husband gone. We’ll fight that battle when we get there. We’ve continued to talk about the two vs. three kids situation. No solution yet. I’ll let you know when we’ve made the decision and executed it!
We have had visitors or plans every single weekend since August. This weekend is no different, and the trend will continue through Christmas. It’s a crazy life, but it’s ours.
What is new in your life? I’d love to hear!
Posted on | November 12, 2013 | No Comments
I took a bit of a hiatus after Allegiant. I was so disenchanted, that it took me a few days to get back on my feet and back into the reading swing of things. But, I’m glad I jumped back in the saddle, and this time, I have a wonderful book to bring to you!
The Razorland Saga by Ann Aguirre is a series that I’ve read since the first novel, Enclave. In Enclave, we meet “Fade” and “Deuce”; two young people brought together in a world of darkness. As in most dytopian books, there has been some sort of outbreak that has turned certain humans into “freaks.” These freaks are violent, mutated, and thirst for human blood. In response, people have move underground to try to avoid the dangers above.
I just finished Horde, the trilogy ending book in the Razorland Saga. And y’all? Roth needs a lesson from Ann Aguirre on how to end a book.
Here’s my Goodreads review:
After having had my heart and trust broken recently by another trilogy ending (here’s a hint; it rhymes with Smismurgent), I tackled this book with a bit of trepidation.
Would Aguirre leave my soul trashed by killing off my favorite characters recklessly? Would I be bored and confused?
Ann Aguirre delivers with, perhaps, the best ending to a series I have ever read. You know how every once in a great while a book will really stick to your bones and haunt you? Horde has done just that to me. In the ending to the Razorland Saga, we meet all our old favorites. Deuce, Fade, Stalker, and Teagan set out on a mission to save the ones they love in Salvation by reaching out to closer settlements to find support and reinforcements. What follows is a whirlwind of action, new characters, drama, end-of-your-seat action, tears, and the best ending I’ve read in God-only-knows how long.
Once again, Aguirre manages to build fully developed characters. Each person has their own personality, dreams, and goals. They have their own quirks, their own moments of pain and joy, and the reader will grow to love each of them in a unique way. The settlements don’t blur together. Instead, each comes to life as though it is a character in it’s own right.
And if you thought you knew the “Freaks/Muties,” you were wrong. Apparently, there is so much more to them than we have realized in previous novels.
Aguirre, you’ve made me a fan. I would LOVE to see these books turned into a movie series because I think the beauty of the words and descriptions could really come to life on the big screen.
I implore you to read this series, and you will not be disappointed.
Now, time to head to the library this afternoon to see what else it has to offer! What are you reading these days? Got any book suggestions?
Posted on | November 6, 2013 | 2 Comments
This post is in response to this article…
I very clearly remember the first time I did something consciously selfish; the first time I did something entirely in my own favor with no regard as to how it would affect the other person.
I broke up with my high school boyfriend.
I know this action seems so very trivial, but hear me out. The boy I was dating was someone I am quite certain would have married me. He fed off the way he controlled me. He didn’t love me, though he thought he did. He just loved that he had the ultimate say in how I lived my life. I had determined my college, my friends, and my family relationships based on his opinions, and he thrived off of it. I could have made him very happy. I could have continued to date him, and gone to college as his girlfriend. Joined the sorority he wanted. Taken on the career as a lawyer or politician that would have furthered his social status. He would have been thrilled. And I would have been a slave to him.
Instead? When he called me to come visit him one Friday evening in June and said to me, “Why are you being such a bitch?” because I told him I couldn’t leave until the next day, I hung up the phone. The next morning when he called, I summoned all the guts I had to say, “It’s over.”
I remember the numb feeling I had when I decided I was done. I told him I didn’t want to see him. When I did finally see him several weeks later, I felt completely detached from his feelings.
Was I harsh? Sure. Was I selfish? I guess. Was it the best thing I could have done for myself? Abso-fucking-lutely.
See, marriage is a selfish thing. Not while you’re in it, of course, but when when you make the decision to jump into it. This is the part I think the article got wrong. You don’t marry someone to make them happy. Because the ultimate result of that choice is a lifetime of resentment and frustration. You marry someone because they make you happy. You marry them because you can’t live without them. You marry them because they absolutely make you the best person you can be. You can’t think about them without feeling that familiar ache of love and longing. You can’t imagine them with anyone else and you can’t imagine anyone else making you happy.
If I had married my high school sweetheart to make him happy, to give my children a life of stability, to be financially cared for, I suppose I would have fulfilled my obligations. But I would be a woman who was depressed, in a loveless marriage, and wishing for a real me.
I met Taylor in my first week of college, and I knew, I knew he was it. He was compassionate, kind, Christian, smart, ambitious, a family man, and damn good looking. I was head-over-heels from the start, and YES, I wanted to make him happy. But even more than that, I knew he would make me happy.
YES, I married the man I wanted to raise my children. YES, I married someone who I knew would take care of us financially if I couldn’t. YES, I married someone who had the same beliefs as me. YES, I married someone with a strong moral ground. YES, I married someone who would support my religious beliefs. YES, my husband has an amazing backside.
But most of all?
He’s my absolute best friend. In my worst moments. In my best moments. Through the deaths of loved ones. Through the births of our children. Through career changes. Through location changes. Through a lifetime of new experiences and hardships, there is no one I would rather weather the ride with than my husband. And fortunately, he feels the same. Because, he too, was looking for someone who could make him happy. And without that passion, without that love and ferocity to protect and adore, marriages are doomed to fail. The equation of marriage is so much more than:
Raise my children+I make you happy+You pay my bills=marriage
And while I think our culture has made a huge light of divorce and made it far too easy, I think so much of that result is reflected from us making a light of marriage. So what if you can make someone else happy and if you think they would make a good parent? Do they meet your other needs? Do they excite you? Do they have ambition? Will they help support you? Will they stay through the worst of the times?
Being in a marriage means you sacrifice some (or most) of your selfishness. If you didn’t have to do that, I wouldn’t have agreed to Taylor starting EOD school, and he wouldn’t have agreed to taking on more loans while I tackled my masters. It’s a time to give and take. A time to love and be loved. It requires constant molding and shaping and being malleable. Yes, it is about making my spouse happy, and it’s also about making myself happy.
Quicky divorces happy so often, especially in younger marriages. I often wonder if they jumped into the marriage in hopes they could make someone else happy, and realized in the process, that they weren’t happy. But maybe, just maybe, if we raised the standards you set in order to get married, these quicky divorces wouldn’t happen so often.
Posted on | November 6, 2013 | 2 Comments
It seems as though all over the internet, on different message boards, and even at your local PX, the Family Readiness Group gets a really bad rap. We all know women can be catty. We know rumors can be rampant. We know that “forced friendships” can be awkward and uncomfortable. We all know someone who knows someone who’s had a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad experience with their FRG, and maybe you’ve even had a bad experience yourself.
But I’m here to ask you to reconsider.
You see, being a military spouse is no easy task. Of course it’s not as demanding as donning the ACUs and taking a desert vacation (and I’m not insinuating it’s anything close to that), but it does mean many hours alone. It means lots of stress and worry. It can mean making sacrifices in your own dreams and plans. It often includes attending children’s school functions or sports games alone. It leads to being the only one to soothe away a nightmare or kiss an ouchy. And sometimes, it means going several days (weeks!) where your only face-to-face adult interaction is with the lady who checks you out at the grocery store.
There’s this thing about the FRG…it’s filled with women who are going through the exact same thing as you. They get it. More than your college friends. More than your family even. And while your college/high school/bestie friends will always be your besties, they may not know how to respond when you call them at 5:00PM sobbing because it’s the witching hour at your house and the children won’t stop screaming and your husband won’t be home for six more months. They may not know how to calm your frazzled nerves when you haven’t heard from him in a week, and you know something has happened, but you don’t know what or to whom.
Your fellow military wives will know. They’ll know that heart stopping feeling that keeps you up at 3:00AM every single night.
They’ll know how to help you put together your taxes when you need a Power of Attorney and H&R Block is giving you a hard time and telling you your husband has to PHYSICALLY SIGN THE TAXES while he’s deployed.
They’ll know the best days to hit the commissary.
They’ll know the steps to take to help get NACCRRA assistance for child care or what you have to do to get your husband’s GI Bill started for his degree.
They can guide you through the town you will be calling home for the next three years.
They will introduce you to other wives. They can invite you to lunch on your hardest days. They seem to know just when to check in on you.
I’d be lying if I said I have never dealt with a difficult woman in a FRG setting, but I think the difficulties I’ve experienced have helped me learn how to handle the turmoil and hurt feelings that can sometimes come when you throw a group of women together.
I’ve learned to be kind. I’ve learned to let things roll off my shoulders when it really isn’t important. I remember, now, when to call and when to email. I can mingle with almost any crowd, and I think there really is no better ice breaker than a big smile and the recognition that all these women might be feeling overwhelmed and shy, too. Speaking of shyness, I’ve discovered that lots of times? Rudeness and shyness can appear to be one and the same, so I always assume someone I meet is the latter. I know that while I may not always connect on a deep level with every woman I meet, I can work hard to make sure that I always make them feel comfortable and welcome.
My roll is a bit different as FRG Leader. I was voluntold into this position, and I’m actually incredibly grateful for the experience. But instead of my experience being about me and what I can get out of it, it has become about everyone else and what I can help them get out of it. I hope at the end of the day, I’ve made the wives of our unit happier and made them feel more at home.
And my plea to y’all, is just this, give the FRG a chance. If you run into a bad apple, don’t let her spoil the whole bushel. Get out of your comfort zone, and ask a lady to lunch. Ask all the ladies to lunch! Host a wine night. Just get involved. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the FRG isn’t so evil afterall.
For the record, some of these ladies really have become some of my closest friends. I’d hate for you to miss out on the same kind of friendships I’ve made.
Posted on | November 4, 2013 | 5 Comments
Got tons of extra Halloween candy? Want to make someone’s day? Happen to know a deployed service member who would appreciate a little Halloween/Fall/Christmas cheer? Help me with “Operation Candy for the Troops”! Operation Candy for the Troops is a little thing I try to do every year where people sign up to send a care package to a service member who is currently serving overseas. If you volunteer, I will assign you a name and address, and you can put together a little package of goodies. This time of year is probably the hardest time to be apart from family and friends, and your act of generosity can really go a long way in helping troop moral. If you would like to participate, comment below with your email address or send me an email at email@example.com Let me know in what aspect you would like to contribute (you can volunteer to send a package, or you can offer a name/address of someone currently deployed). Sully, Arlo, and I are putting together two packages today, and we hope that with your help, we can send many more!
I ask the the packages consist of just packaged food (nothing homemade). Homemade goodies are wonderful, but they spoil during the ride. Things that are pre-packaged tend to arrive in much better shape. Other than than, feel free to add candy, treats, letters, whatever! (Also, please no porn/alcohol/cigarettes/etc. I don’t want you getting in trouble or getting someone else in trouble, and also, that’s just weird). And finally, please do not volunteer if you can’t follow through. I’d hate for someone to expect a package only to never receive it. If you do volunteer, please let them know it’s for “Operation Candy for the Troops” from Exploits of a Military Mama so they know why they are getting it!
Halloween with littles is just so fun. Arlo and Sully were puppies this year, which is perfect because they are forever tumbling around in a little pile of wildness. They totally got into the character, and as soon as the costumes went on, they started barking and talking in “puppy” voices which is apparently very high pitched and only slightly ear-splitting.
Taylor and I were the “Sundrop Couple.” It was too much fun, but no, we did not “drop it like it’s hot.” I felt that would result in not-so-flattering pictures and a morning of regret.
I love Halloween. The spookiness of it, the costumes, the stories, the ghosts. It’s all just so fun. I feel a little sad that it’s over, but we are really looking forward to Thanksgiving and Christmas. What were your little ones for Halloween? What did you dress up as?
Posted on | October 30, 2013 | 2 Comments
If there is one lesson I’ve learned as a mother, it’s that children constantly change. Oh, and always get dirty diapers out of wetbags and out of the car before the hottest days of the year hit. But anyway, Sullivan has been showing me every day just how much he’s changing.
He’s fully potty-trained and without a paci. He adores garbage trucks and combines. His favorite color is green. Or blue. He’s started to have a few little nightmares, and he’s convinced the mirror in his room grows arms at night (creepy, right?). He wants to be exactly like Taylor when he grows up. In his words, “I’m gonna be wruff and tough just like Daddy!” He loves apples, zucchini, and carrots. But also chocolate in any form. His favorite thing to do is play outside, and he wants to start playing baseball soon.
But more than that, he’s become this independent, kind, gentle little person. When babies at the gym daycare lose their blankies, he’s the first to hunt for them. When I dress up, he always tells me I look beautiful. He kisses Arlo’s boo-boos. He says his Gigi is his favorite person in the world. He told me the other day his Pops is the strongest man he knows (sorry Tay). He remembers everyone’s name. He quietly sits and leans on my shoulder or holds my hand when he’s tired. He worries so much, and he reminds me of myself. He always wants to know exactly what we’re doing, what everyone he knows is doing, where we’re going, and what’s happening next Tuesday. He can be exhausting with his persistence, and he sometimes wears me out, but he really has become a best little friend to me.
I know we’ll hit rough patches. I know sometimes he’ll make me want to rip my hair out and maybe leave me crying quietly in the bathroom alone because I just don’t know how to handle him. He’ll probably hurt my feelings when he chooses his friends over me. I will probably have a moment or two where I’m disappointed in his choices or behavior. He may even give me some scares as he stumbles through life as a young man. But, for right now, I’m so grateful for this little person. I’m so glad I get this time to truly enjoy my almost four-year-old, and I wouldn’t wish away these days for anything in the world.keep looking »